


everyday

by theshymuffin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath, F/M, Post Series, altean floriculture, and gardening, but more cathartic, by writing her a poem, i'm not a poet but sometimes the things you write at 2 am turn out alright, lance deals with grief, not angst, this is meant to be soft, you feel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 13:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18801307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshymuffin/pseuds/theshymuffin
Summary: Lance reads a poem he wrote for her to a field of juniberry he planted for her.Everyday I rememberIt stirs this ache within my chestThere is no measure for how I miss you, dearest





	everyday

It used to be the ocean. The closest thing Lance could imagine to heaven. Now, it is seas of sweet magenta, of fragrant juniberry. For acres they stretch, push up to greet Earth's sun. When wind comes, they sway in symphony, endless waves of ecstasy. And some days, when the breeze is just right, as it rustles through the stalks, Lance can hear her speak. She comes; a whisper.

_How are you, my love?_

_I miss you._

_How very proud of you I am, Lance._

Today, he is in the lower meadow to plant. With a swipe of his arm, he catches sweat gathered by his eyes. Summer is riding the air, drawing ever nearer. The earth is soft, black like coffee. It is the perfect time to sow.

Colleen and Coran have worked going on two years to cultivate the small life he holds. They are another blossom of old Altea. Now the seedlings are small, golden stalks and leaflets, but someday he hopes to see them bloom indigo and royal blue. The same color she used to wear, as heir and princess. Coran says it is named the King's Rose. A perfect compliment to a bouquet of juniberry.

This meadow will be the perfect spot. A field of soft green, that flutters at the caress of wind. Shielded from harsher winds, plenty of sun. The dirt is ready, as Lance breaks into it. Fertilized with an ancient Altean concoction that smells faintly of seaweed.

Alone, his thoughts are free to wander. Out here, they often do. There is still a fragment of his heart that throbs, that aches. He has begun to think of it as a wound of a great battle. The mark it left will never truly be erased. And yet, he has only to look but all around him to be reminded that despite her death, the sacrifice she made has reaped much life. Perhaps more than she knew it could

This gives hope, as a seed to be nurtured itself, that what he does now can become something greater than what he imagines it to be now. Even as he sweats beneath the sun. Breaks the soil. Sows this fresh life. Once Altea was great. Spread life and knowledge and beauty to the surrounding galaxies. Perhaps in his part of cultivating the New Altea, he will be a part of this hope, for this young civilization. Though it struggles now, perhaps it may one day be what no one could foretell. The sort of thing that breeds to legends.

If only she could see it wasn't for waste.

Lance recalls hushed moments. He would hold her, and she would weep for her lost people, her stolen culture. Her dream, more than anything else, was for it all to be restored. He likes to believe this is what he does, day after day, seed by seed.

The first King's Rose in the ground, he pats it securely in its new home. And again, he does so, and again, until all the seedlings are planted. The next season will bring more, as they are able to harvest more seeds. Soon, there will be acres of it. Ready to transplant to New Altea.

How he wishes she could see. What a smile it would bring to her face. The laugh it would bring, were she to see the juniberry dancing. This is enough to make his heart swell, tears crowd his eyes. Lance presses a hand to where it aches most.

Fingers feel the outline of paper folded and nested safely in the front pocket of his flannel shirt. The sheet is worn by now, for how often he brings it out to read, for how he has it with him always. Though it is nothing more than a small poem. He's no poet, of course. But he wrote it shortly after her death. It happened after a night spent drunk and griefstricken. At last, Keith and Lance's older brother Marco had come to drag him out of that bar, to take him home. Blubbering. Unable to see more than a step in front of him. They had to carry him to Marco's truck.

Even now, his eyesight blurs as he stands at the crest of this hill. Today, the early summer breeze follows him. Near. Familiar. So he listens.

_You must grow too, love. You must grow too._

Knees that are weak, breath that is ragged, drag him downward. He settles among the willowing grass, and the scent now so familiar, now so loved. Beyond him, the field of pink stretches as far as he can see, from this vantage spot. He slips out the poem, as he so often does, and begins to read gently to the flowers.

 

_Everyday I remember_

_It stirs this ache within my chest_

_There is no measure for how I miss you, dearest_

 

_Everyday I feel_

_Those gentle hands as you traced my palm_

_With words to soothe, to be my balm_

 

_Everyday I weep_

_Long for you here, my arms to hold_

_Yet they remain, still empty, still cold_

 

_Everyday I see_

_Your smile, radiance rivaled only by stars_

_Safe in a space, in a moment we called ours_

 

_Everyday I dream_

_For a life to laugh, to love, to cry_

_To mess up, to make up, and altogether try_

 

_Everyday I wish_

_You could be here with me_

_Be the miracle to calm my soul like the sea_

 

_Everyday I remember_

_Even in death, you remain with me_

_Our love, my love, will remain more than mere memory_

 

So well, do they listen. The juniberry sit day after day, to hear what he has scrawled on this faded scrap of paper. And what a miracle it is, for them to be alive as he.

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to all the hearts that know what it's like to miss someone  
> feel free to leave your thoughts, your feelings, your keyboard smashes in the comments below <33


End file.
